


Nomina sunt consequentia rerum

by AmyLerajie



Series: Dum loquimur, fugerit invida aetas [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, World of Ruin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-09 01:48:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13471125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmyLerajie/pseuds/AmyLerajie
Summary: Names are the consequences of things and things are aptly named, in the end.





	Nomina sunt consequentia rerum

**Author's Note:**

> Promdyn week was two weeks ago but I am still writing, so, anyways.
> 
> Day Four: To Hell with Destiny  
> Changing Fate

“Would you kindly refrain from killing yourself?”

Prompto's head is still heavy, so he accepts the glass of water he is offered to with a grunting noise. Ardyn looks fuzzy, even though he is standing barely one arm stretch away and the younger man drinks in hope it will chase the dizziness.

“What time is it?” he asks, voice raspy as he had just slept for a thousand years. He can feel panic filling his lungs, because he is pretty sure he hasn't slept that much time, but he still has lost some precious time.

“It is time for you to rest.” Ardyn answers, pacing in front of the couch, followed short by the wobbling Tonberry. Prompto braces himself, as he is sure that he will get an earful from the Chancellor, but the silence it follows is even more alarming.

He scratches the side of his head, where the hair has been shaved, where he can feel the scar and wonders if getting another surgery would be that risky. He is wasting time, he can create some, accelerate his brain processing power once more... but he also feels like he wouldn't be able to stand without the other man's help.

“You know I can't. And I don't need that much of it anyway.”

He can see by the way the man turns his head -no elegant twirling involved, no extravagant gesturing- that this wasn't a good answer. Ardyn opens his mouth once, then twice, before crouching in front of him, brows furrowed. He looks furious, but in a way in which Prompto knows that it doesn't involve spite or hate.

Tom tries to jump on the couch, the little legs desperately trying to reach for the pillows and almost loses its hat in the process. The Tonberry falls on the carpet with a sound which reminds him a dog toy, and he reaches out for it as Ardyn moves to help it on the couch.

Prompto stops mid-air, fingers outstretched, then let them fall into his lap as the Tonberry sits right next to him with a little grumbling noise. It looks like it is trying to convey Ardyn's anger, in a way Prompto can't help but find endearing.

“Are you angry with me, too?” Prompto asks, poking the little hat away from its green face. Other dog toy noises seem to confirm that hypothesis and the man can only smile sheepishly.

He is not sorry. He is doing his best, honestly, working with all that he hates about his origins. He can't erase the fact that he is not really human, that he is just one of the thousand soldiers with the same face that have become increasingly rare, but still exist. Prompto Argentum can't cancel Verstael Besithia, so he is trying to fix what he contributed to do, fighting fire with fire, in some twisted way.

“I am close to finish my cannon, I just need... time, all right? Ignis said that Noctis will finish his ultimate scapegoat training in ten years and I already lost too much time being sad and angry and just killing Daemons.” Prompto tries to justify himself. He can see a little better, now, he notices the lines converging to the man's furrowed brow, but also the way Ardyn's eyes look bigger, his lips pursed in a straight line.

Prompto cups his cheek, out of habit and this never fail to amaze him, but it always causes the bigger man to close his eyes and relax a bit. He never looked for one that knew how personal place worked, but this is still new and unexpected.

“Is it so wrong? If this means humanity can be saved... And Noctis.”

It's just logical to conclude it's not, but Ardyn's eyes open wide before glaring at Prompto, jaw locked, as he was trying his best not to answer that question.

“This is some ridiculous saviour problem that you have” he ends up hissing through his teeth.

Prompto is not having any of that.

“Look who's talking!” he snarls, before remembering he was supposed to keep it a secret from him. Ardyn doesn't look pleased, not on the least. He jumps up in a rustle of heavy clothes, and he walks to the cannon. It's dead. Something that Prompto couldn't check before the migraine burned inside, filling the room with thick smoke. Thankfully Tom managed to open the window, but now Prompto is worried that Ardyn will destroy it in a fit of rage.

He is not prone to burst like that, he is truly awfully dramatic, but more on the subtle and manipulative side, still, Prompto just said something that was supposed to be hurtful, and he is on the edge.

But Ardyn laughs and Prompto immediately wonders if the outburst would had been better, because he has never heard a laughter like that and it feels like his heart had been ripped from his chest from the sadness, the defeat he can hear in it.

“That's exactly why I am saying this.” Ardyn ends up whispering, one hand on the cannon.

At first, the idea had been so simple, yet, on paper, it worked like a charm. The true nature of the dark sky hadn't been recent news, but Prompto hadn't read Verstael diaries before. It was true that the researcher was a psychopath and a monster, but he wasn't stupid and Prompto knew that something still was there, inside his own mind. An idea.

The neural implants were an old project. The plan was in the diaries, researched and maybe even approved, but Verstael never went on trial with that. It had been a risk, and badly calculated at that, but Prompto was desperately trying to be useful for once and, of course, almost ended up frying his brain in the process.

But the neural implant worked and all that remained, thanks to Ardyn, was a scar on the now short hair on the side of his head and the irony of becoming more of the inhuman he had been made to be.

After that, all had been clearer, like opening a secret book of answers. Prompto had studied the mutated _Plasmodium malariae_ himself, working on the photophobic parasites in search of the exact amount of light needed to destroy them.

Everything had gone smoothly up until that morning and now the cannon now lies on the table, useless how he himself feels.

It is frustrating.

“The world won't thank you if you lose your humanity in the impossible task of saving them. Believe me, I am not a stranger to the situation.” Ardyn mutters. He sounds even more defeated, now that his back is turned at Prompto.

Prompto knows a lot more than the little story that Ardyn's likes to tell. He knows, thanks to Talcott, just how much he sacrificed and it hurts more than ever.

“Are you scared I will turn against you? Use it against you?” he asks, now calmer. He can see Ardyn's shoulders shake in the ghost of a self-deprecating laugh and his heart squeezes even more. He wishes he had the strength to get up and take the man on the couch, indulging a bit in this sort of rewards he established for the pieces of information he can get from Gralea and the rest of Eos.

“I might have not cared if that had been the case, it is about you.”

That, Prompto knows well.

He knows how the lighting scar that follows the man's spine is the result of a divine punishment ministered time and time again, a never-ending agony inflicted to an immortal. He knows about how he was left at the mercy of starvation once one or ten capital punishments weren't enough to kill him. He knows about what they did to his family, the nameless child and the boy and the wife, and he tries to forget, at least that, because he is aware of the agony it must course Ardyn at all time, even now, as he candidly confesses he is pursuing death even more than vengeance.

“The Gods will be angered if something doesn't go as planned.” and that's it, the core point of Ardyn's restlessness. And Prompto understands, yet he doesn't. He has always been stubborn.

“It can be a slow process, like any other sickness human kind defeated! It should be it! How can we survive only by throwing one lonely person away in sacrifice without second thought and call ourselves humans?”

He knows he has a logical point, but, as Ardyn knows well, Gods are assholes and the risk that he is taking is not that different from the one Ardyn took before.

He can see the logic behind his fear. He can feel important in the way the man cares.

It's with the utmost caution that he gets up and walks to the Chancellor. His head still stings, the light too strong not to hurt his eyes. He closes them as he drapes his arms around that bigger figure and sighs.

“Let's go to bed.” he caves in, breathing the soft smell of oak moss. It's what an old library could smell like and Prompto can try to imagine another time, another chance, where things wouldn't be as complex and preordained as they seem.

This feels like a time long-lost. Not wasted, just... lost.

 

Ardyn looks less intimidating under four layers of clothes, in a too-big “I dream Insomnia” tourist tee. There was a time, not four or five months ago, when Prompto would have rather died than admitting he had picked it for this kind of occasions.

A coincidence, he would have said, a necessity, because the ridiculous clothes that the man wore were too frilly, too uncomfortable to sleep it in.

It's almost endearing, now, watching as Ardyn hoards the pile of duvets they are buried under, lying close enough to Prompto that the younger man can feel the others' stubble prickling his skin as he breathes.

Ardyn's always cold. Warm under the covers and in what feels like a loose embrace, but still colder than most people Prompto has ever touched. It was weird, at first, scary, even, to share a bed for warmth and... whatever this complicated reward system has become. But he is used to it, he is more tired, head and heart aching too much for thinking of on how many ways this should be wrong.

Ardyn was right, sleeping did wonders to his exhausted mind, and he can see clear solutions to all the problems he had with the cannon. He can't wait to get up, wake Tom up and work on it.

Later. He has four years, if Ignis and Talcott are right. And they are, most of the time.

Ardyn is warmer, now, perhaps because Prompto feels very hot, not uncomfortable, but still, he can feel the weight of too many covers, and he shifts a little to place them more on the older man.

Ardyn opens his eyes, bleary and Prompto somehow always expects that they will glow in the dark. But they are almost black in the greyness of the room, hazy, at first, then easily locked on Prompto's.

“Better?”

Ardyn is not particularly talkative, when he is barely awake. It takes him less than it took to Noctis to wake up, but it's still a trait that Prompto recognizes as running in the family. He can't decide if he finds it endearing or sad.

“Still a little stingy, but not bad, really.” he tries to reassure him.

Ardyn's right hand in on his temple, gently massaging the pain away. It's a pleasant sensation, but the tips of his fingers are too hot he is stubbornly trying to heal him.

He has done it before, when surgery seemed like a wonderful and well-calculated idea, but, of course, Prompto's brain had thought better of the unwanted foreign object that made it work twice as fast. Ardyn had found him curled in a ball and sobbing his heart out, gasping for air as fever burned his body.

That's why he stops him midway, letting the warm light fizz and die on his fingertips.

“You'll be sick if you do that.” Prompto whispers, letting him grasp on his fingers and turning his hand just right so that it's not uncomfortable.

Healing is an old gift. The first gift, the one that consigned him to damnation, in a way. Helping others to get rid of the Starscourge by letting it consume Ardyn. Not the brightest idea, but that's Lucis Caelum for you, always trying to be a hero, no matter what it takes.

Healing Prompto from the surgery rejection left him oozing from the Starscourge, coughing so much that the youngest thought of blasting him with the cannon might be of help. Prompto thinks that he died, at some point, because 30 seconds passed without him coughing, and then he seemed all right, after that.

Prompto doesn't care if he can die and come back in so little time, he doesn't want to see him healing any more.

“Ardyn, why are you here? Are you planning to sabotage the cannon? Kill me? What's the deal with you?” Prompto blurts out, because he thought about it a lot, and he still has no real answers. He wasn't really thinking about it, but still he is glad he mustered the courage to be stupid.

Ardyn doesn't look bothered by the question, but still, he takes some time to think, as he didn't really have an answer. He lets his hands hide Prompto's, eyes on them, before kissing his knuckles one by one. Prompto doesn't know how to react to the strange constriction he feels in his chest. It's terribly painful, yet it isn't.

It's warm and tender, just like the kisses are delicate and deliberate.

It's always Prompto that touches Ardyn, so maybe he is not awake yet, maybe is more vulnerable, more genuine, but so is Prompto. He lets out a timid sigh, because it's weird, but it's also so warm he can feel the tears pricking the corners of his eyes.

“Well, I'll leave you the honour of making an educated guess.”

Wrong, Ardyn is awake, of course he is and Prompto gapes at him, unable to find a witty response, because he can feel that comfortable warmth escape from his grasp, yet he doesn't want it to end.

He can feel his hand tremble and somehow Ardyn feels it too and lets him go, leaving him the choice of what to do next. He doesn't want to be left alone with that responsibility. And yet he knows that he doesn't want to be left alone again, braving death in search of a ghost of a validation. He doesn't want to wake up in a cold bed or hearing Ardyn telling him that waking up together could be a bother, so he just leave in time for Prompto to wake up, like they didn't sleep together at all.

Prompto is tired of pretending to be tough and angry. He has never been particularly bold or resentful.

“I don't know if I care to.” he confesses, letting his arms slip around Ardyn's torso and resting his head on his chest. Ardyn's heart does a mangled and wet inhuman sound, but Prompto doesn't care.

 

“Really, Ardyn.”

The view from Prompto's old high school roof is as dreary as it would be anywhere else, and they fought several Nidi to get there. It's a place full of memories, this one it is, unlike home, full of happy moments with Noctis. It's painful, but it's a tall building and it's at a walking distance from his house, so his choice has some kind of logic behind it.

Still, Prompto can't avoid thinking that the main reason to choose it was because if there's a place that deserves light, that's really this one. An already bright place in his heart.

It's a ridiculous thought, one could think, to expect a mysterious light ray to reach the sky just because it is shot from one tall building. A kid would think that. Prompto has made some precise calculations to reach the conclusion, but still, it sounds kind of foolish.

But, to be fair, the most ludicrous thing of it all is the main baddie of all that story, standing by the concrete wall, black umbrella unfolded to shield himself from who knows what.

“Wouldn't want to risk being blinded by your beauty, my dear.” Ardyn points out, dramatic gesturing and all. Prompto can't help but chuckle, as he tries his best to hide his nerves behind a frown.

“Look at Tom! He is scared, now!” Prompto retorts, pointing at the tiny Tonberry hiding its face on Ardyn's leg, green on green. Its bright red cape might not help with the camouflage, but it is trying really hard. “It's OK, it's only a joke, your Mama won't melt, I promise.”

That's what I hope, Prompto thinks, petting the little green head before putting its hat back and pick up the cannon. It doesn't look very powerful nor very important. It's kind of plain, considering its ultimate goal, although heavy enough not to be confused with a toy, but Prompto has never been one to trust something or someone by their outward appearance and, slowly, he walks to the center of the roof.

“Well, of course I won't melt, you silly darling, your Papa would cry.” Ardyn is answering to Tom sad cooing, behind Prompto. He really hopes so. Tonberries are not technically Daemons, there is no danger for the little one, but Ardyn's fate is unknown.

Still, Prompto chooses to trust him.

“Please, reconsider stabbing my leg once again, darling.” A pause, as Prompto stands under the black sky and closes his eyes to focus. “That is preposterous, I would never allow it.” A pause and Prompto can almost feel a physical constriction in his lungs, like vines squelching a soft bloom of hope and peace, a bloom of home.

“I am appalled by your absence of faith.”

Faith, trust. Feels that shouldn't be theirs, but they are. Prompto supposes he should confess something, in case somehow this went horribly wrong. He knows the name of that flower, only he is not brave enough to say it.

So he decides to trust by cowardice.

Prompto opens his eyes and points the heavy cannon at the sky. It charges in a second and, in another brief moment, everything goes white with a deafening sound. There's a loud pop and a crunching noise, just like he was too close to a raging storm and Prompto panics, eyes closed and arms sore from the rebound.

Then, silence falls.

It's not like there even was any sound to begin with, all wildlife is gone, but this is a silence that feels empty and it prompts him to open his eyes, his heart ringing in his ears, and to look up.

He can feel the sun long before he realizes that he is staring at a bright blue sky in the middle of the black miasma. It's off-putting, like some painting he saw about the end of the world. That's where an angel could fly through, to announce the end of every living thing. But it's empty and unsettling, because Prompto isn't used to it any more. He remembers the sky from pictures and paintings and it's painful to conceive living without it, all of a sudden. He can feel panic rising into his dry mouth, and he raggedy breathes, like his chest refused to move properly.

“Oh, Gods! The Sun! Orphic bearer of life! The Sun, I cannot stand its strength!”

Suddenly, it's like jerking awake from a nightmare. Prompto gasps for air and turns around.

Ardyn is still where he left him and so is Tom. The relief makes his knees buckle, but he is fast enough to pick up his pace and laugh. Ardyn's acting skills are terrible, when he wants to.

His face looks older and warier, in the light, his hair is redder, his complexion paler. He is smiling, but his eyes -the colour is so bright it looks like amber- are full of worry and a pain Prompto is not used to recognize.

Still, he reaches for the umbrella and pushes it out of the way to see him better, fuller than he ever did. He has never truly observed Ardyn's face and the complexity of his wrinkles just adds to his manly features. It's a face of torment and a longed peace, but also one that choose to shine a little to make Prompto laugh and this, right now, it's all what Prompto cares about.

“There you are.” Ardyn softly murmurs, touching his cheek, one finger lingering on the dimple next to his mouth. “The sun.”

And as the sun warms the roof, filling the air with its distinctive smell, Prompto doesn't stop smiling until his lips reach for the Chancellor's, with a soft sigh.

Home, as a small flower blooming in his chest, is a blind acceptance of his darkness and a warm embrace he has never been forced in, and yet he desperately wants forever.

Even if it's not long at all.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I really wish I was faster, but I wrote a lot and got stuck in the marvels of the English past tense, so, please, tell me if something sounds weird, this is all I can do without guidance.  
> Some of you had excellent ideas for Tom, but it's really hard to let him shine with the plot/constant anguish going on... Also, Tonberries are Daemons in the FFXV world, but let's pretend they are just very cute critters with little fedoras on their heads.  
> I am really surprised by the support this little experiment is getting, I really hope you enjoyed this installment, too! Exams will be in the way of proper writing until the end of February, but I will try to deliver the next "episode" at the beginning of March.  
> In the meantime, you can find me on twitter @ wifeintheattic, feel free to drop by!


End file.
